


One Shot

by theparadoxicalfox



Series: Royal Flush [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 1923, Mobster AU, hey look it's the little tiny first one-shot from a month or so ago!, so i put a link in the notes, there's so much 20s slang in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox
Summary: Here's a handy little link to one of the websites the whole team uses for 20s slang!





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's a handy little link to one of the websites the whole team uses for 20s slang!](https://alcapones.com/slang_dictionary.php)

Jack looked up from his desk, through the dusty window of his office, and watched as three of his men wrestled another into the warehouse. Heaving a deep sigh he dropped his pen into the notebook, closed up the inkwell, and exited the little room he’d claimed as his own.

“So this, again. You know why you’re here.” It wasn’t a question.

The man had been knocked to his knees, and he was now looking up at Jack as he ambled closer.

“Please,” he whimpered, “I didn’t do nothin’. I’m no fuckin’ snitch, I didn’t spill nothin’, I swear! An’ I didn’t take nothin’!”

Jack smiled gently, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “What’d’ya think, boys? Have we heard this before?”

A tall, blond-haired man holding the other’s arm tightly behind his back snorted. “When haven’t we heard this chin? ‘Oh, I’m as square as they come; no, I didn’t take any extra fucking dough, I wouldn’t dare-‘“ He shook the man, who cringed as though expecting a hard knock over the head.

Jack shook his head, sitting down on his heels to look at the wide-eyed man head-on.

“We can’t have any old chap takin’ our scratch, yeah?” The man nodded vigorously in agreement. “Because then how could I trust that chap? Knowing that he might take what’s my own, right behind my back one day? That he might drop a dime, just like that?” Jack snapped his fingers, and the man flinched.

The man shook his head, eyes wild with fear and desperate hope. “I swear I won’t do it again. Not again. That was the last time. I’m one of yer men, McLoughlin! I won’t dare-”

Jack stood, a different sort of gleam in his eyes. “So y’did do it,” his voice was calm, gently powerful. “Y’know, I thought you’d be a bit harder t’make sing—especially since this is your second time—but I can’t complain.”

The man’s mouth hung open, a shaky wail escaping. He was panting, and tried to free himself from the three others’ grasps.

“Y’know what, I get it. I understand what it’s like to not have enough scratch to eat. At least you’re not like him,” Jack gestured to one of his men, “He’s got three kids and a missus to feed. But that’s why you’re here, in with the McLaughlin Boys. We take care of our own. We make sure everyone’s got enough grub. So when ya steal my scratch, you’re stealing food offa his table, too; outta his kids’ mouths. You get it?”

The man’s eyes were wide, and the wild hope flickered into something more believable.

Jack stepped back a bit. “Let him go,” he ordered.

“What?”

“You heard me th’first time, yeah?” Jack’s voice was soft, even though a chill had crept in.

“But he’s a fucking snitch. An’ he fucking stole a grand an’ a half the first time. You can’t let him up an’ leave!”

Jack’s shoulders stiffened. He ignored his men, and looked back down at the snivelling mess on the floor.

“I’ll give ya five seconds,” he help up a hand. “Five seconds to get outta my sight, or I’ll fill ya with daylight.” He withdrew a pistol that had been tucked in the small of his back, casually checking the chamber before clicking back the safety.

“F-five seconds?” the man squeaked, glancing at the distant exit.

“One,” Jack replied. The man scrambled to his feet and dashed for the open warehouse doors.

“Two,” Jack called after him, eying his retreating form.

“Three. Four.”

“He’s gonna make it,” one of Jack’s men murmured in disbelief. “He’s gonna fuckin’ make it out.”

“Five.” The man rounded the corner and a muffled yelp could be heard. Then Jack walked forward a few steps, raising his pistol-

The window shattered.

A second shot rang through the air just as the man’s form could be seen passing the empty window frame—there was the sound of a yell cut short, the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Jack muttered. “I gave him a fuckin’ second chance. Not again.”

He turned back, walked to his office. Right before he closed the door he called out to the three who were frozen in place, “Get rid o’ his body, yeah?” And then the door slammed shut.


End file.
